Feature Film
by break.your.bones.mr.jones
Summary: [Collaboration with betaTrickster; check out their stories if you haven't...they're rad!] Tweek is doomed with a boredom that won't quit and two drunk assholes calling him from murder-park. Yeah, high school graduate used to mean something. Complete.


It's been a really boring week. School is over; _eternally_ , Tweek prays, though he knows autumn will bring another round. This time, though, it will be pricey and he will have no escape. It'll be a cheaply shot and costly horror movie, indeed the most terrifying kind. He can probably get all the pot he wants, though. It's been four days since sweet freedom (master has given Dobey a diploma! Tweek didn't walk; too much pressure?) and just as soon as high school began, it ended. Now, he's filled with empty space and he can't think of one thing he _wants_ ; he can think of a thousand. He's become a clock himself lately...just fucking counting every single second and standing still.

It's Tuesday. Another day. It's another uneventful day that Tweek finds himself sleeping off in his room. So, _surprisingly_ , it roils into an uneventful evening.

May's over and June is flying through, hanging out a window, and Tweek himself is practically a goner.

He sighs and rolls over on his bed, orange sheets and a purple quilt folding under him. It's not an appealing color scheme. The purple is Barbie purple, adorned with off color flowers that remind you of infected wounds (inflicting awful memories of elementary school before sleep) and the sheets aren't pumpkin orange, but the fading orange of Butterfingers gone bad. But they're soft and freshly washed, exhuming a hairy glow that he is beginning to hate.

How boring?

Yes, _how_ boring, indeed?

 _Everything_ is excruciatingly boring; the house, books, music, movies... they're all boring. And he loves music. It's awful, everything is boring or…unsafe. He refuses to use his computer anymore, because "The CIA and the FBI and Homeland Security, man, they _know_ shit."

Life, he is only beginning to realize, is far more surreal than the internet.

Is _this_ truly what life is supposed to be, boring and weird? He'd counted the specks on his walls _twice_ (ninety four), did Clyde's old calculus four times over (sixteen questions; seven came out to eight and the remaining nine came out to various prime numbers), hung upside down and read his favorite passages from the nerd bible until he felt nauseous ( _Lord of the Rings_ ; Shelob's lair, the first appearance of the ents, Tom Bombadil's house, Rivendell first time around; second time is too sad), watched _Mr. Roger's Neighborhood_ (bass violins and grocery shopping), made bread (rustic and tastefully burnt), cold pressed cider and set it out to ferment (maybe alcohol would help), sung classic rock with his banjo (folky _Fat Bottomed Girls_ ) and _now_ , well, he's even crying a bit. Just a bit.

It's official. The boredom is destroying him. He'll be dead in a week, or less. Probably less, knowing his genetics. Oh god, how come he doesn't want to die but is so _bored_ with life? What's _wrong_ with him?

His parents, lovely and spacey, aren't around. His mom has gone to church, three hours ago. She should probably be looked for at some point today. His father has become some sort of messiah to South Park's hipsters, so Tweek doesn't see him all that much these days. These are the ones that hang out in coffee bars. Yes, coffee _bars_. They are in goddamn, full-out puppy love with his dad. They find him "enlightening" and "enchanting", so they say, as they pull out their vintage inspired phone cases and Google 'exotic words that begin with e'.

Tweek finds him so goddamn boring, frankly. He knows he loves him and all that familial crap, but as Tweek's grown up (and grown cynical; apparently?), his dad's stayed the same. Really, he'll just go on about coffee being meaningful…had a shitty day? No sleep? Exams? Your friends hate you (or you think they do)? Coffee will fix that. Coffee is life, coffee is key. He'll speak in sonnets of the stuff. His mother is good company, though. Slightly less redundant. More paranoid and far more out of it. She let their car roll into a lake once, vacant eyes fixed on it for a whole ten minutes while her son freaked.

 _Tweek the Freak…it was a pretty original nickname_ , Tweek thinks nostalgically. _Man, High School sucked._

Only as the car began to slip out of sight did she, herself, freak out. His family stares a lot, Tweek realizes. The phone rings snappishly, its' fifty year old ring, and Tweek jumps. He uses his grandparents' old landline because cordless phones are laughably easy to tap into. He gets up and walks the full mind blowing four feet; each step is downright exhilarating. He answers it with his obligatory silence.

"Hey, buddy! What? Oh, dammit, shit, I was s'pposed to say what?"

"Clyde?" Tweek sighs. This is his friend. He knows it. Drunk as a Mormon on milk. Unless someone has caught him and is forcing him to say he's alright but needs 50k for a safe return. That was an unfair prank. Tweek narrows his eyes. "Are you trying to prank call me? You shouldn't do that. You know what happened last time."

"Dammit," Clyde, giddy as hell and bubbly. Why is he so fucking bubbly, even drunk? "But I got a friend here too, he says…what? You want to what? I don't think I'm gonna want to say that."

"You're pie-eyed, you damfool. Hang it up."

"How'd ya know, twitchy?"

"Come on, man, you forget who you rung? It's me, I'm like that. You shouldn't be so flabbergasted. Hella observant I am." Tweek begins. "Plus, you're making dying giraffe noises." He looks for his clock. _Oh, I_ am _the clock, that's right_ , Tweek thinks. "It's been wh-what… _four_ hours and you're already wasted? I'm so impressed."

"I'm not drunk, m'friend. I – what? No, I said I'm _not_ saying that. _No_ , get your own phone if you want to say that."

"Is that Craig?"

"Yeah, yeah, he's here too. Ugh, fine, goddammit, _take_ it." The shuffling of the phone is so awe-inspiring, Tweek nearly finds himself composing a ballad. He hears a huge sigh that sounds a little sad and annoyed. Mostly buzzed. One of the few things Tweek is most proud of about himself is his emotion radar for sighs. He might not be able to balance a checkbook or drive a car but boy, if you just had a great nap or the shittiest day ever, Tweek can hear it in your sigh.

"Hey, I'm a high school graduate! I can spell asinine!" It's great, Craig, his best friend is totally wasted. That's always fun.

"Why are you so chipper? What beer are you drinking?"

"I'm always chipper…chippering? Chippered?" Tweek hears a slurp. "That's my catchphrase, amen, Chipper Craig, praise the states. Hallelujah!"

"Can you do me a f-favor?"

"Anything, buddy."

"Good." Tweek says. "Go home."

"But I'm only senior once, man, _once_. And if I have to do it I get drunk like a bee. _Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing_."

"Bees don't get drunk. They have important jobs. They can't _afford_ to get drunk. Why would you say that? It's moronic."

"No, _no_ , like, _buzzed_ because bees, Tweek, right? They go buzz buzzing and shit, man, can't you even- I'm so done with this right now. Why don't you come over here? I wanna see you."

"I don't feel like hanging around with a bunch of drunken teenagers. Puking isn't fun, why do you all make it seem like fun? It's just disappointing and not very Irish."

"But it's not a bunch…it's like, twenty! Tops!"

"Why are you so desperate, man? Are you trying to pull off another prank? You know what happened last time."

"Pft, no, I'm just _lonely_. And this party is boring." Ah, yes, boring. Tweek knows.

"You got Clyde; you shouldn't be lonely or bored. He's a riot."

"Well, he just passed out under the table. I don't think he's going to wake up until morning. He wasn't much fun." Craig sips his drink again and Tweek groans. "I just wanna see you, dude. We're graduated."

"If you can make it over here we can hang out."

"That's not very fair. I'm drunk and disabled."

" _You_ drank all that beer."

"It wasn't beer…it was scotch or something green… _I_ dunno. I'm really buzzed that's all. Is your dad gonna be home? I could drive over."

"Shit, don't joke about that. You've got a drab sense of humor." Tweek frowns. "How could _you_ tell if it was green?"

"I'm not joking. I'm dead set on serious." Craig swears under his breath and Tweek hears a drink sloshing violently. "I just had a sense, I'm not super blind. I can drive."

"If you say that _one_ more fucking t-time….ngh-" Tweek slips on his shoes. "-whose house is the party at?"

" _Huh_?"

"Where are you?" Tweek rolls his eyes, though he knows it's a trivial motion.

"I knew you'd come! We're in the park, I think. On Hines… _yeah_ , Hines." No, no, no, no, no...!

"Oh, fuck no!" Tweek shouts. "That place is terrifying! Nightmares are made from it...dude! Why the fuck are you there?!"

"Tweek _calm_ down. You want to make me deaf, too?"

" _I_ found th-that, that _body_ there last year!" Tweek says frantically. "Did you _forget_ that, Craig?! The police were even worried! Why the hell are you hanging out there? Are you _trying_ to die?! Oh god, don't go all _Fight Club_ on me."

"Nah, not yet. It's just a celebration, man."

"Celebrate in the graveyard, you fool!"

"They're all dead and dying and stuff–"

"No, no, _wait_ ," Tweek says. "They should be dead if they're there, not dying. I don't even want to think about that. I can't believe I'm coming to get you."

"You're good to me."

"Ngh, well…t-try to wake Clyde up. I don't want him to die."

"He's not gonna die."

Tweek rolls his eyes as he makes his way outside as quietly as possible. Of course Craig doesn't _think_ Clyde is going to die. You never _think_ someone is going die out of the blue – then they _do_.

"Yeah, well," The ground is cold. He's trying to step as lightly as possible; quick! What would Legolas sound like? _Air_ , Tweek thinks _air._ "Wake him up anyway, I'm gonna b-be there in a while and I don't feel l-like sticking around."

He can hear Craig sighing on the other end, loud and ridiculously over-dramatic. If he's trying to get Tweek to pity him, he's failing miserably. There's some shuffling, and then the muffled sound of Craig's voice saying, "Wake up, dumbass, Tweek's coming to get us." He reaches through his window and sets the phone back on its hook. The pearl-green shines nicely, reflecting the static light on his dresser.

Tweek heaves a sigh of his own as he shuts his window and begins his way towards the party, wondering why they couldn't have called Token to come get them. Token always rescues them. He's like the Buddha. He's so zen. Tweek could seriously use some Token-given mantras right now. It's so cold (not to mention _dark_ , and who knew what was lurking in those shadows), and he finds himself wishing – not for the first time in his life – that he knew how to drive. Cars _are_ death traps, though, and South Park's cold weather isn't enough for him to get behind the wheel of one. Besides, it's like ten months out of the year ice. Tweek ain't driving in that.

The walk to the park is, at least, blessedly short. Amongst the debris of a graduation party, he sees his friends standing together, with Clyde leaning heavily against Craig. Tweek frowns. What a pair of fools.

"Hark, your h-hero." Tweek says. "The journey home will be long and cold."

"Tweek, where the hell is your car?" Craig calls out, swaying a bit under Clyde's weight.

"You know I can't drive, dude!" Tweek snaps.

"Yeah, but still. I don't _wanna_ drag Clyde's fat ass all the way to your house."

"'M not fat." Clyde mumbles, shoving Craig half-heartedly. "Manly bones, big ones."

"What was I supposed to do, just _t-take_ my parents car? What if I got pulled over? I can't go to jail, man, I'd d-die there!" Tweek shudders at the thought, burrowing further into his coat. He grabs onto Craig's free arm and proceeds with the worst guide job ever.

Craig's doing that "poor me" over-dramatic sighing thing again, but he's hauling Clyde along with him as he makes his way over to Tweek. Tweek turns and sets off back in the direction of his house.

"Tweek, slow down. You're like a Chihuahua...or a Pomeranian. One of those little dogs that barks a lot. Stop moving so fast! I'm with Clyde."

Tweek rolls his eyes, but slows his pace. Clyde, despite his near inability to walk, is mumbling something about how hot Red had looked, and how he could've "totally gotten down with that" if he really wanted to.

Craig snickers, and Tweek couldn't help but join in. Clyde doesn't hear them, though – or maybe he is ignoring them – continuing on about Red and how "ridiculously hot" she was.

That's how the majority of their walk continues, Clyde drunkenly rambles on about Red, college, and, at one point, says that he wants to go back to the party and drink more. That notion is quickly vetoed by both Craig and Tweek; there is no _way_ in hell Tweek is going anywhere near murder-park again if he can help it and Craig doesn't want to "watch a drunk baby all night".

The walk home is considerably longer than the walk there had been (due mostly to the fact that Clyde tried to run back to the party and had to be dragged back before admitting defeat. Truly, the fall on the pavement should have stopped him.), and Tweek is exceedingly grateful that he had thought to grab his coat before heading out.

When they finally get to his house and Tweek is able to unlock the door (the combination of his shaking hands and Craig's whining don't make it any easier), Clyde promptly makes his way to the living room and dumps himself on the couch.

"Ngh – dude, he better not puke or anything! My mom'll fucking _lose_ it if she has to clean that up. You know how she is about messes. And, well, ngh, _barf_."

Craig mumbles "stop freaking out", already making his way up the stairs, and Tweek glares at his back for a moment before following. Craig makes it to his room before him, even though he's drunk _and_ blind. Tweek groans when he enters to find Craig already tucked in his bed.

"You're not sleeping in my bed."

A groan.

"Craig, seriously. You reek like Dutch courage. Go sleep in the living room with Clyde or something."

Another groan, this one accompanied by a pillow launched in his direction.

"Craig! I'm-" Another pillow, one that hits him in the face and Tweek sighs again. "You fucking bat." He is either going to have to deal with drunk Craig and his booze-breath all night, or drunk Clyde, who Tweek knows from first-hand experience is ridiculously clingy.

In the end, after staring at his static light for a long while, he chooses the lesser of two evils, picking one of his pillows up from the floor and not-so-accidentally elbowing Craig as he settles into bed. He receives nothing but a grunt in return, and sighs.

 _Next time_ , he thinks, _I don't care how bored I am;_ _I'm not answering the phone_.


End file.
